


No One Will Name You Lion

by CaedHarlowe



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/F, Grieving, max still has her powers, sad fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaedHarlowe/pseuds/CaedHarlowe
Summary: Pretending you never made a mistake doesn't absolve you of the consequences. Max finds this out the hard way.





	No One Will Name You Lion

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda-AU? It's not canon but it can more or less fit into the canon epilogue with only a few quibbles.

The storm battered them, and Max braced her legs against the howling wind as Chloe grasped her hand and locked their fingers together. Her fingernails dug into Max's hand, and _that_ pain distracted her long enough to let her pull out the butterfly photograph. Each heaving breath she took lasted minutes, inhaling and exhaling from one eternity to the next. Her clothes and hair were soaked, and rain dripped down the photo, marring the image. Or were those tears? She watched Chloe out of the corner of her vision before dragging her eyes back to the photo. Was she really going to do this? _Could_ she? As if the storm had heard her thoughts, lightning flashed, dangerously close to them, and Max shuddered. It didn't matter if she could or not, she _had to_ go back.

She glared down at the photo, scowled at it until her eyes ached and she fell to her knees, everything but that brilliant blue fading away. Her hand was yanked from Chloe's, and she cried out, but there was no response. Everything became white noise and static in her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she'd finally broken the world, and she wouldn't have to - but her eyes jolted open at the feel of cold tiles under her knees, and she lifted her head to see the bathroom stall, Nathan's voice echoing loud in her ears. The gunshot rang out a moment later, louder still. Loudest of all was the silence that followed them both. Max's pulse thundered in her ears, throat clenched against a sob.  The silence was shattered into jagged shards a moment later by Nathan tossing the gun aside and falling to his knees, frantic denials falling from his mouth. Max felt much the same as he sounded, and curled up against the wall, finally giving voice to her grief.

It was hidden like that, perhaps half an hour, perhaps half a year later, that the paramedics found her.

One of them lifted her to her feet, drew her into the hallway with an arm around her shoulders, some meaningless platitude meant to calm her down. Max had the impression of students swarming them as she was led out, butterfly polaroid clenched between her fingers. She shivered like she's been caught in a blizzard and ignored them all. Couldn't have paid attention if her life depended on it. _Her_ life- The paramedic was asking her something, but she couldn't make out the words.

Shock, they said.

Out the front of the school, sirens bled into sirens in a pulsing dirge. Max had forgotten how perfect the weather had been today. Backed against a small stand of trees was Nathan, shouting at the police who warily approached him. He'd dropped the gun somewhere between the bathroom and where he was, and now stood alone, shoulders hunched as he backed up.

"On the ground and hands behind your back!" One of the officers shouted, and Nathan jerked, head swiveling to scan his surroundings. he balled his fists up and complied. The other officer darted forwards to fasten to cuffs around his wrists, and he led him to the car. The officer who had spoken looked behind herself and changed course, heading straight for Max.

 _There's no way they know_. Max shivered, thinking about how she could have prevented - what happened. Did that make her responsible? No - _no_. She would be culpable for much more than a single death if she saved Chloe. It was hard to convince her heart of such, though.

The officer cleared her throat, and Max peered up at her, drawn from her spiraling thoughts.

"I'm Officer Jones. I understand what you're going through, miss, but we do need to take your statement."

Max blinked at her. "Can it wait a few days?"

Jones hummed and hawwed, mouth twisted up, but eventually nodded. "I'll take your details now, and you can come up to the station in a few days."

Grateful, Max provided her name and phone number, and which room she lived in. Jones thanked her and headed for the school, telling off the too-curious as she walked. Max wondered what would happen to Nathan, but it was a fleeting thought, soon swallowed up by the maelstrom of guilt that filled her head.

The paramedic took Max's elbow and steered her over to the ambulance, where Max was wrapped in a shock blanket and  offered an oxygen mask. She pushed it away with an impatient, "no, thank you," as she answered the paramedic's questions. Was she hurt? What had happened? Max gave what story she could with her mind whipped up like it had been put through a blender. She'd gone to freshen up, chased a photo opportunity, and hid when she heard Nathan enter. At first she was too scandalised, too curious to reveal herself, then too afraid to step out in the face of the gun. She was left to her own devices while the paramedic headed back into the school.

Chloe would still be in that bathroom, wouldn't she? Samuel would have to clean up the blood, and she felt another lance of guilt over adding to his workload. There was so much cleaning up to do.

A commotion from the school entrance resolved itself into David Madsen, baton drawn and face stormy as he pushed past Principal Wells and Mrs. Grant, headed straight for the police car. Officer jones intercepted him with a firm hand on his chest an a scowl to match David's own. After a quick word in response, he turned heel and marched over to Max, who had to remind herself of David storming into the dark room to rescue her.

"You there! What the hell was my daughter doing talking to that nutjob?" Jones, trailing in David's wake, perked up and peered at Max.

"She'd caught him selling drugs, or spiking girls' drink, or something. She tried to extort him for money." Max barely recognized her own voice.

"And he _shot_ her. I told her. I told her to leave the weed alone." David moved as if he was going to punch the ambluance, but scuffed his foot into the concrete walkway instead, fists clenched at his sides. He sent a rueful glare towards Nathan, hidden by the dark windows of the car. Behind him, Jones raised her eyebrows. He looked back at Max.

"Thank you." David said gruffly. "I'm glad the bastard didn’t get you, too."

After a final assessing glance, officer Jones farewelled them and left for the police car, which took off, tyres ripping into the grass. David nodded to her and stalked off as well, leaving her to avoid the glances of students as they were sent home, kept away from her by the teachers.

Eventually, the paramedics emerged and let her go with a stern recommendation to drink something warm and have a quiet evening. Max nodded and stumbled away from the ambulance, away from the school. Somehow she found her way to the dorms, where most of the students had gathered, lingering outside and talking in hushed whispers. Silence fell around Max as people noticed her, and the students turned towards her like gossipy sunflowers. None approached her, though, and she made her way up to her room in a bubble of silence, one quickly taken over by frenzied speculation. Max thought some stepped towards her, but she didn't care enough to stop. Shock, they said.

Even Victoria stayed silent as she stumbled into her dorm, merely stepping out of her way as she passed.

She discarded her camera on her desk, fell into her bed and piled the covers around her. Her fingertips were cold, and for a moment she had the ridiculous thought that she brought the storm back with her, but her hair and clothes were dry and it was only tears which traced their way down her face.

Someone knocked on her door, opened it when she didn't respond. The bed dipped and Kate's delicate perfume surrounded her a moment before her arms did. She didn't say anything, and Max leaned into the embrace with a shuddering sigh.

They all thought she saw some stranger die, some dropout who messed with Prescott. Max knows Blackwell. She knows what it did to Kate, sweet, innocent Kate, and dreaded what it would make of Chloe.

Kate rubbed a thumb back and forth over her shoulder, murmuring some verse about death and life after. Max didn't have the energy to ask for her silence.

The sun had almost sunk by the time Max's apathy began to abate. Kate still sat with her, although she'd gotten up once and returned with a sweater. Max pushed the blanket from her shoulders and stood, blinking gritty eyes and heaving a sigh. Something dug into her palm, and she looked down in surprise at the butterfly photo, still trapped in her grip. She uncurled stiff fingers and held up the polaroid, frowning at the creases running through it.

"That's a nice photo." Kate said. Her voice was fragile and she flinched when Max looked at her.

Max felt her lip twitch, and couldn't tell if it was amusement or scorn she was feeling. Perhaps both. "Not really. Can we get something to eat? I'm hungry."

"Of course." Kate bustled around Max's room, gathering up a coat for Max, and smoothing the bed into a loose semblance of order. They walked down to the dorm common room together, Kate's arm hovering at Max's back, never quite touching.

That late at night, the common room was empty except for Brooke, who offered Max a strained smile, eyes sliding away.

Kate pushed Max into one of the low chairs with a command to stay put and headed for the cupboard with the instant noodles. The only sound was the clock ticking and the rustle as Brooke turned the pages of her novel. Kate returned with a mug of chicken soup, dried corn swirling in the centre. They sat in silence while Max drank, and after, once she'd pushed her mug away and turned to the photo, spinning it by its points. Eventually, she spoke, voice hoarse.

"I knew her." Kate blinked at Max. "When I grew up here. She's my best friend."

"I'm sorry." Kate said it like she meant it, and max remembered that other rain-filled night, wind howling and plucking at her clothes. Strong at it blew, it had been no match for Kate.

Impulsively, Max dropped the photo and pulled Kate into a hug. The chair's arm dug unto her belly and she had a mouthful of Kate's hair, but the warmth under her palms grounded her, and she felt Kate return the hug just as tightly.

"Thank you. I'm glad you're here." Kate had no way of knowing how sincerely Max meant those words.

* * *

Max had gotten rid of Kate with a story about alone time, and Kate had bought it, wide eyes filled with pity. It was not exactly a lie. But she didn't want her room at Blackwell, and she sought out Warren, who wrapped her in a hug as soon as he saw her. He leaned back and have her a smile which quickly faded.

"I always knew Nathan was a creep, but not a murderer. I can't believe he _did_ that. He didn't hurt you, right?"

Max forced back a snarl. _Nathan had shot Chloe_. She swallowed and disentangled herself from Warren.

"I'm fine. I hid. I _hid_." She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched over, eyes squeezed shut. It seemed the tears were not done with her.

"Hey." Warren rested his hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to get away from Blackwell for a bit? I've got a new car!" His attempt at joviality fell flat, and he winced.

"Yes. _Please_. I need to go to the two whales diner."

Warren raised  his eyebrows, but pulled his car keys out. "Anything you want, Max."

Max smiled at him and tipped her head back to stare at the sky as they walked. It was filled with soft purples and reds, not a cloud in sight. Max grinned at the sky, more a baring of teeth than anything else. It had _better_ stay that way. Warren's car was right where it had been today, across the parking lot from Chloe's. It was still skewed across the disabled parking spots, and a handful of papers stuck up from the wipers. Max glanced away from the truck and hurried into the shotgun seat of Warren's car.

Max turned up at the diner to find Joyce had already closed up and left in a terrible rush, as the irate trucker informed her. Kicked them right out, and that’s no way to run a business.

Max thanked him and wheedled Warren into caddying her to the Price home. They were silent on the way there, Max fiddling with her camera, ignoring Warren's repeated glances. Even before, she knew she had been holding out too long, too scared to face those she'd left behind. She had to go see Joyce.

"Want me to go with you?"

"Thanks, Warren. I'll take it from here." Warren  gave her a wave and waited for her to reach the front door before driving off.

Max's second knock was interrupted by somebody opening the door. Joyce stood in the doorway, eyes red and movement arrested in surprise.

"Max. Now's not really the best time."

"Who is it, Joyce?" David appeared from the garage, eyes narrowing when he saw her.

"How did you find this place?" He stepped forward, one hand out towards Joyce, and max felt a ridiculous surge of gratitude.

Joyce bounced a confused glance between them. To her, max replied.

"I was there when - I was there. I saw it happen."

"Oh, honey." Joyce pulled max into a hug, and people were really going for that today, weren't they.

"Not now, David. She stays." Joyce's tone brooked no argument, and Max was shuffled into the dining room. David gave her a grumpy nod and stomped back to the garage, shutting the door rather louder than  necessary.

"I'm sorry about him. We all grieve in our own ways, and he's a veteran. Fighting is the only solution he knows." Joyce gazed at her, and Max returned the look, holding herself still. Eight years, and this was the first-again time she'd met Joyce.

"I suppose you've seen the posters around town?"

Max nodded. She'd seen them.

Joyce half-smiled and sat opposite max. "Chloe put them up, every last one. Rachel was always flighty, always hanging around with the wrong crowd. I thought for sure she had run off to the city. It's all I can hope for, now."

Max shivered and made a mental note to look after Rachel. She owed it to Chloe.

"I - I should have visited sooner." Max swallowed, opened her mouth, and closed it again.

Joyce continued to gaze at her for a while, but Max couldn’t return in. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than expected. "Why don’t you head on up to her room? Whatever you're looking for, might be you'll find it there." Max knew Chloe's room rather well by now, and she wasn't sure she needed or wanted anything in there. Her heart ached for the photos she'd un-taken, though.

David was leaning against the doorframe as Max rounded the stairs. His face was inscrutable and Max didn’t bother trying to decipher the look he gave her as she passed him. She skipped the squeaky step automatically, and before she knew it she stood in front of Chloe's door. She'd spent the last few days there, knew it almost as well as her own room. She still wasn't prepared for how _familiar_ it felt. There was the shoebox with Rachel's photo, and that desk drawer was filled with a mish-mash of leaking pens and broken pencils. Max had doodled butterflies in that corner, each one spilling out from the next. Chloe had added rude words coming from their mouths. The wall was blank now. Max didn't need to look, but she did, eyes interrogating every corner of the room for answers to questions she refused to voice.

Feeling like a trespasser, Max pulled out a CD, one of the ones they'd played endlessly while researching the Dark Room, and put it on. She turned it up until she could feel the bass in her feet. It must have been audible downstairs, even outside, but neither David nor Joyce came to stop her.

_We all grieve in our own ways._

She changed into one of Chloe's shirts and curled up under the bedcovers. They smelled like Chloe, like smoke and the cheap deodorant she used. Light streamed though the American flag, soft and diffuse, peach and blue and pink. She stared at the light, watched it dim around her long after the CD had run silent.

Her stomach had long finished craping with hunger by the time Joyce ventured up. She sat behind her, carrying a plate of food.

"You're welcome to stay the night, and any other night you want. You should probably eat something, though. Chloe will need your help."

Max rolled over, eyes closed. "There's not much I can do for her. She's not here anymore."

"Maybe not, but you can make sure it doesn’t happen again."

Max snorted.

"I should have saved her."

"Honey, there was nothing you could have done."

"I could have created a distraction, could have intervened. Could have saved her."

"Max. Look at me, please.

"Even if you could have done something, even if that something would have stopped Nathan Prescott in time, there's no sense in wondering. We need to move forwards. You can’t change the past."

Max choked and shook her head.

"Thanks Joyce." Joyce took it for the dismissal it was, and left after running a hand through Max's hair.

It wasn't that she wasn't grateful, she was, but how could Joyce understand? How could anybody? Chloe was the only one she'd told, and -

 - and Chloe was dead. Had died, and Max had let her, so that everyone else might live. Joyce, hair peppered with grey streaks that hadn't been there when Max left. Kate, faithful, lovely Kate, who didn't deserve what happened to her either. Warren, earnest and dorky and always willing to lend a hand. Even Victoria and Nathan, as much as she'd detested them, would get another chance to live. So many people. So many, and yet Max's heart ached, and for long moments she wished she could go back, rewind _again_ and take it back, reconcile with Chloe and leave Arcadia Bay behind, leave everyone to the fate she'd cursed them with.

What kind of person would do that? She curled up tighter, tears leaking from here eyes. She wanted to, wanted it so much she thought her heart would tear from her chest, ashamed to belong to her. But it just continued to ache, her whole body ached, and Chloe was dead.

She pulled the thrice damned photo from her pocket and tore it in two, suddenly terrified of what she might do if it was left intact.

There was so much she would have to do, and she couldn't afford to forget anything, but she couldn't bear to rise from Chloe's bed so soon. She rolled over and picked at the food Joyce had left, lukewarm and unappealing. But it filled her belly and she retuned to the bed, settling in to sleep and dream of Chloe's smile, the way she walked, how her laugh sounded. She would do this, if only for Chloe.

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled upon this poem while writing this fic, and the work and chapter titles come from it. http://caedharlowe.tumblr.com/post/148147601884/you-pulled-your-bones-out-of-bed-this-morning


End file.
